Faithful
by lookskindagreyout
Summary: YET ANOTHER view on the morbid roots of the Los Illuminados, from the views of both Bitores Mendez and Ramon Salazar. What does it take to earn the faith of a Madman?
1. Chapter 1

I wrote this as a favor to myself. Often times I write my fanfics casting Ramon Salazar as a tradgic villian, to be misundrstood, used, and cast away in the end, as these are the things that happen to tradgic villians, as always. But this...'Faithful"... this casts him as something a little different... And, at last, Bitores is given some say as to how it all began.

I do not own any characters affiliated to the Resident evil trademark. actually, they own me. : D

FAITHFUL

Part one

He smelled good- the smell of wealth and refinement. He smelled of fresh, salted lemons, and clean hair. The fact that his scent was pleasant was so very unsettling.

He had somehow expected the smell of death and blood to hover about Ramon Salazar.

Bitores Mendez did not want to be here. Simply the thought of being here, in the lavish home of a man he hated while his people struggled and toiled to survive, disgusted him. Bitores watched the small man, whom was reading over a list of expenses he had just received, and suddenly wanted to strangle him.

Ramon looked up, his golden eyes flashing over his reading glasses. 'So, how long is it that you wish for me to suspend taxation?'

Bitores folded his large hands behind his back, hoping he looked authoritive through his one eye. 'A month, Lord Salazar. Two would be excellent, but I could manage to get things sorted out in a month, at the least.'

Ramon considered, studying the large man's face absently. Bitores tried his hardest to hide a shiver under the gaze. Ramon removed his glasses, stowing them in his golden vest and returning the list to the desk, 'You have one week,' he said finally.

'No, sir-'

Ramon sat bolt upright, his long silver ponytail falling across his shoulder. 'No? Did you just say no to me, senior Mendez?'

'I-I need more time, senior-' Bitores started.

'Allow me to remind you, senior- no, chief Mendez- I am the castellan of the Salazar province. You and your people live here strictly from my good graces; to me, you are nothing more than ganados. I ask very little of you. I allow you to govern yourselves, to build and to farm, and I even protect you┘ yet you see fit to challenge my authority? Don't be foolish,' Ramon did not raise his voice above a soft whisper, nor did he avert his eyes from Bitores' face, 'I am a very powerful man, Chief Mendez- I do not look it, but I am. I will not tolerate your impertinence.' He sat back in his leather desk chair, crossing his legs. 'One week.'

Bitores sighed, bowed, and turned to leave. Nothing could be done, now. His people were condemned to a frozen, starving winter.

'Bitores.'

Bitores paused, looking back over his shoulder. Ramon watched him over interlaced fingers. 'Yes, senior?' Could it be a hint of compassion from the cold, impassive castellan?

'I will give you a month and one week... if you do something for me,' He said softly.

Bitores turned back to the desk, 'What is your task?' He questioned uneasily.

'I want to see your eye.'

'I beg your pardon, senior?' Bitores stammered, taken aback.

Ramon motioned to the eye patch covering the chiefs' ruined left eye. 'Let me see your eye, and I will suspend the taxes for your little village.' A spark of morbid interest seemed to glow in his eyes.

Bitores swallowed, raising his hand to the leather patch. He grimaced, thinking of the starving townsfolk and gathering his courage, 'Very well, senior,' he replied at last.

'Kneel before the desk, please,' Ramon commanded, and Bitores followed his instructions, dropping to his knees before the writing desk. Ramon pushed himself from his seat, creeping across the desk , sitting on his knees and taking the chiefs' face in his hands. His long, pail fingers were cold, and Bitores' face burned as he glared up at the castellan.

Ramons' face was calm as his fingers crept upward, lifting the eye patch away from Bitores' face. The castellans' eyes widened with horror, and a smile played on his wine-colored lips in delight. At last he returned the patch, sitting back. 'Thank you, Bitores,' He said, 'A month and one week, as promised.'

Bitores rose and departed without looking at the castellan. He was ashamed and humiliated, feeling somehow violated by the experience. He wanted very much to kill Lord Salazar.

Ramon Salazar watched Bitores leave the castle from the battlements, giggling softly to himself.

End part one.


	2. Chapter 2

Life moves on, Life moves on. This next part was a bit difficult to write (gasp! 'difficult to write?!' you say), in the fact that I had to make sure that it was not boring and repetitious, yet still display feelings and/or physical attributes in the process. Writing angst comes naturally to me, as I am a teenager and we are keen to such things. Ever so emo. However, writing descriptions of people annoys me, as sometimes I cannot settle on a word to appropriate with a characteristic. But such things can (hopefully) be overlooked.

And thanks ever so much for you whom corrected me on my spelling errors. English is still rather strenuous to me, so Spanish is quite out of the question. But I can learn, and I will.

Faithful, part two

Their village was always in some sort of crisis. It frustrated him, sometimes- just after he had solved one problem, another would surface, worse than the last. Crops would fail, wolves would kill livestock and poultry, or Lord Salazar would rip out their proverbial jugulars with and increase in taxes.

Well, at least he had some time. Truthfully, he didn't know what to do with the time allotted to him, but know he could think and act without the heart the heartache of a financial hole in his peoples bucket. He had to find a way to feed the masses.

Bitores plodded along the frozen forest road. It was late September, and the foliage had disappeared from the tall, thin, white branches of the birch trees that bent over the path. The light of the setting sun elongated his shadow, making it seem to stretch for miles. Bitores was an already huge man, standing at seven foot, five inches tall, and he looked menacing enough for his size. He was strong and honest, and his skin was dark for the earth he had worked his forty-three years. His long beard had once matched his worn leather duster, but now occasional silver-white hairs crisped his chin, in contrast to his bald head.

He must speak with Sera.

Ramon Salazar pulled his shirt from himself, baring his pale chest to the cold autumn air. He straitened the silver cross around his neck and sat down at the dresser to pull the silk ribbon from his long hair and begin brushing out the tangles. He paused to look up at himself in his richly framed mirror, sighed, and continued brushing.

Ramon pushed his silver bangs from his eyes and felt the tips of his hair just brush the bottoms of his shoulder blades softly. Something cold suddenly touched the back of his neck and his gasped, turning quickly. 'Hello?' He questioned.

There was no one. Ramon turned back to the desk, glaring down at the marble surface before him. Of course there was no one. There was never anyone.

There was the sharp clack! of the jeweled brush being cats into the drawer, and the rumble of the drawer being slammed shut by the cross castellan. Ramon sauntered to the bed, throwing himself onto it and wrapping his head with a pillow. The horrible quiet was suddenly muffled, and he shut his eyes to silently listen.

A slow throb met his ears, followed by another, fainter version of the first. This pattern repeated, and he had the rhythm, curling into a ball and kicking away his pajama slippers. He felt calmer, but only slightly so- the beat of his own heart assured him that he was, in fact, alive, and had not somehow died unnoticed, leaving him to wander his empty hollows as an ethereal spirit interminably, but the fact that it was the only heartbeat within twenty miles of his small, cold room rang with hollow loneliness in his mind.

He knew he was alone. He accepted it. But sometimes he wished that someone would be there. Anyone would be there.

It was complicated, being mad.

His eyes sprang open as a high scream filled his ears. 'No…' Ramon whimpered softly, 'No, not again…I can't listen anymore….' Yet still the screaming continued, high and harsh, loud and unrelenting. Ramon shut his eyes, crushing his ears to his head to stop the noise, but to no avail. It wouldn't stop. It had haunted him, changed his hair and eye color seemingly overnight, and finally driven him to madness.

The castellan let out a long, hollow wail, hoping to drown out the screaming with his own. But it only added to the pandemonium, until his throat blistered in his efforts and his head was nearly splitting with pain, and he was weeping softly into his pillow. 'Dear God!' He begged in a whisper, 'Dear God, please help me!' he kicked his feet unconsciously in agony, '_Please kill me_!'

Ramon knew where it came from- It came from Hell itself. Long ago his ancestors had killed the demons that roamed the land, and sealed the gates of Hell with this castle. And for eight generations they had guarded and protected this secret, at the price of their sanity. It was now Ramon's turn to best the Devil, and relinquish command of his mind in the midst of it. The townsfolk had no idea what Hell could be set upon them, if he ever stopped fighting.

He gave everything he was for a people that hated him.

END PART TWO


	3. Chapter 3

umm, something I noticed. well, you can't actually grow tomatoes in a month. I like growing things, and squash is about the fastest crop out there. not counting flowers, of course. Please forgive me!

Faithful, part three

Senor Sera lived between two bridges, at the edge of a cliff. The old farmhouse, and the Sera family themselves, had been around since before anyone could remember. Traditionally, they were expert trappers and tanners, and were well respected in the community for their work... even if it was illegal. The laws had been set, long ago, that none were to take game from the Salazar domain, or even venture onto it, but the Seras had been making there living where others dared not tread for decades.

Bitores often visited the Seras, the last of which being the old man Sera and his fifteen-year-old son, Luis. He owed them much, as they kept the burgeoning wolf population at bay, and they were more desirable company that that of Lord Salazar. Bitores crossed the bridge toward the house as the dogs began to bark, running out to greet him. Alerted of the presence of company, Luis emerged from the farmhouse. He was a smart, handsome boy, with dark, wavy hair and brilliant green eyes. His bronzed face was split in a wide, white grin. 'Grandpa!' he called into the house, 'It's Senor Mendez!'

'Hello, Luis,' Bitores said, waving as he neared. The dogs swarmed around his legs, jumping and pawing and yipping, tails in a flurry of movement, 'How are you?'

'I'm well, Senor. Grandpa is having me take more mail-order courses-- he still thinks I'm a genius, or something.' Luis whistled sharply, and the dogs abated, slinking back toward the barn.

'you're a smart boy. He only wants you to make something of yourself. More than what we are.' Bitores watched the dogs go.

'I'm far from ungrateful. I only want to get smarter to take care of the old bastard, you know.' He stepped aside, 'Won't you come in? It's starting to get dark.'

'Ah, no. I'm afraid this will only be a short visit, as I have to get back to the village.'

Luis looked at him seriously, 'It is wolf season, Senor. Unwise to be out after dark.'

'There are far worse things in these woods that wolves, Luis,' Old Man Sera said, at last emerging from the house, 'You know that as well as anyone. Better than anyone, even-- you're a Sera.' He stood behind the boy, placing his hands on his shoulders, 'We are sworn to keep the secrets of this land.'

Luis looked bored. 'Yes, Grandpa,' He said flatly.

'Luis, why don't you head back inside? You aren't finished with your studies.' His Grandfather steered him back toward the door, pushing him along.

Shrugging, Luis headed inside.

'How are you, old man?' Bitores asked.

'Well, thank you. What brings you here? Any good news from our beloved Lord?' Sera asked bitterly.

'Yes. He's given us a month and a week,' Bitores looked up at the rising full moon, white in the fading dusk, 'But I don't think it will be enough. That's hardly enough time to grow ripe tomatoes, if they were even in season.' He sighed. 'I-I just don't know what to do, Sera.'

'We'll pull through, old friend,' Sera said softly, 'I've seen worse times than these. Life will move on.'

'My men need jobs. Our crops failed more than last year, and we've had to resort to buying from other villages, or importing. And that is expensive- we don't get enough food. I... I just can't seem to find any help.' He looked down on Sera hopefully. 'Have you found anything, old friend? Anything at all?'

Sera looked tired, 'That forest is the home of demons, even if Luis says there's no such thing. But... there may be something I can get to help.' he dropped his gaze. 'But it is dangerous.'

'I don't care, Sera. I would walk through fire, if it meant anything.'

'Very well. I'll come by tomorrow--' But he was interrupted by a high pitched wailing, and Bitores jumped.

'What is that?!' The Chief questioned breathlessly.

'The demon!' Sera answered in a hushed voice. 'He must have heard us talking!' Bitores swallowed, another cry echoing across the night. It sounded like the screaming of a monster, a shrill, lone voice in the distance. A chill breeze shifted the barren trees.

'He cries, on nights like this,' Sera whispered. 'Please, come inside. It's not safe, when he cries... and the wolves will sing with him.'

'How did you sleep, my lord?' A servant asked, more out of formality then sincerity. He did not look at Ramon as he worked, setting out the castellans' breakfast of bacon and eggs.

'Horribly,' Ramon replied bitterly into his tea, 'If at all.'

'That's good, the servant chirped automatically, unheeding of Ramon's answer,

'I'm glad. You look refreshed.' Ramon let out a sharp laugh. He looked down to his dark brown reflection on the steaming surface of his tea. Violet-colored circles appeared around his eyes (now a dim yellow color in his exhaustion), and his face was more lean and pail than normal. His bangs, which he had not been able to fix properly that morning, were mussed and hung to his brows.

If anything, he looked like hell.

'So, what is on your agenda today, Lord Salazar?' He asked, finishing his task and stowing the serving trays back onto the dining cart.

Ramon was about to snap at him to mind his own business and go away when he suddenly paused. The proletariat had a point. What was he to do, today? Ramon considered carefully, but found he was, indeed, free for the day. 'I think I will read,' Ramon replied at last.

The servant laughed, 'You sit and read every day, my Lord!' Ramon raised and lowered one shoulder, non-committal, pulling his plate forward and starting on his eggs. The man smiled, bowed, and left the room, pulling the dining cart with him.

Ramon set down his fork and picked up his knife, beginning to butter his toast. Again the servant had brought up a point of validity; every day he sat in his library and read, unheeding of the world, unheeding even of time passing. At some point the may have stopped caring, but he could never tell just what he valued, anymore.

He valued money, he guessed, and money meant time. The more money he had, the longer he- the last of the family line- could devote his time to keeping the demons at bay. Perhaps he was a mercenary creature, as he would do nothing if there was no benefit to it on his part. What else did he value? Certainly not his life, as he was truly born into servitude... Ramon flinched away as light suddenly blinded him. He squinted at the sunlight that glinted off the glass window pane that had blown open in the chill autumn breeze. He looked around, finding himself alone. Grumbling, he slipped out of his chair and went to the window to shut it, annoyed at the pointless inconvenience.

Ramon paused, looking down from the castle window into the barren, frost bitten forest below. He briefly wondered what could be down in the woods, lurking where no villager dared set foot, on Salazar land. In his youth, he had been privately schooled and trained within the sanctity of the castle, and had not been inclined to much exploration- in fact, he had been warned against it. The woods were said to be filled with wolves, and a pack could easily take him... He'd never seen a wolf. Well, only in pictures or drawings, and things made from the pelts.

Ramon wanted to see a wolf. Were they really so vicious? Many people said that he himself was horrible, and he did his best to keep that front...but Ramon knew the pathetic truth. He was, physically, harmless. Perhaps wolves were menacing, in the flesh. He wanted to see something as terrible as was fabled, unlike himself.

Ramon found himself grabbing his coat and hat, and slipping past the servants and across the grounds undetected. He did not take any weapon; if any creature had the strength to kill him, he had no right to stop it by shooting it. Bullets were for the weak.

He was being pretty reckless, he had decided. But something better drew him, in his quest for insight, and he ignored the nagging thoughts in the back of his mind as he plunged on, into the thrillingly unknown.

His first steps into the forest broke the silence between the skeletal trees as his feet crushed the fallen leaves, and he sunk to his ankles. It was as if he had sneezed in a chapel, shattering the perfect sanctity, and he waited, motionless, as if waiting for someone to bless his soul. His ears found more unforgiving silence, and he continued on, treading loudly on the crisp leaves.

He made his way up a steep hill, but began to slip backward, dropping onto all fours to scramble up the slope. He reached the top and wiped his grimy hands on his coat, then continued on, unheeding of the tall, grey castle wall fading in the distance as he wandered further into the woods.

END PART THREE.


	4. Chapter 4

Well, here it is. Part 4. lovely. I've come to realize thet the wolves in Spain may be quite different from the ones I remember in Germany. I remember them rather magestically, and big. But I'm small, so that may make up the difference, I suppose. I hope I haven't erred.

Faithful, part four.

Bitores' eyes rounded with wonder. 'You're certain?' he asked breathlessly, 'Sera, old man, you're absolutely certain?'

Sera looked grave, 'Yes, Bitores. I… I've known for a while, I've just never… It's very dangerous.' He rubbed his face with a sigh, 'I'm sorry I haven't told you, until now. It's just… I can't remember when we've needed money this much.'

Mendez sat back in his chair, rubbing his bald head in shock. His mind was racing, and he felt dazed. 'Silver, Sera… sliver could save our village.'

Sera looked uncomfortable. 'I've seen small pieces of it scattered in the sands of the cliffs, at the base of the castle. I wouldn't touch it to save my soul. But if you're feeling brave…'

'I have to, Sera. I can't let our people starve…' Bitores paused, considering. 'Thank you, old man. You may have saved us. But the question is-- how do we get to it, with out alerting Salazar?'

Sera shrugged. 'I'd say he's pretty blind, not to see the wealth on his own land. But I've told you , I'll have nothing to do with this. I'll show you where, but that's as far as I go.'

Bitores raised an eyebrow, 'scared, Sera? You were never one to be afraid of what the Salazars did.'

The old man shook his head, 'Not the Salazars, Amigo. Arrogant aristocrats. They don't even know what evil…' he shut his eyes, grasping the crucifix that hung on a chain around his neck, 'what evil surrounds them. Saturates them. Festers their blood, and makes them strange in flesh, strange in mind. No,' he kissed the cross, 'I'll not touch any part of that silver.'

Bitores frowned, 'Old man, I know that taking this money is wrong, a sin. But I know of no worse hell than letting our people starve, while a vampire lord who cares nothing for them drains away their very life blood. If it is between letting people live, and displeasing God…' he bared his teeth, 'I will take my chances with demons!'

Sera smiled. His old face seemed angelic, framed with white hair and a beard of snow, and his wrinkles seemed to show not age, but perfect wisdom that spanned ages. 'Bitores, my friend, I believe that God would forgive you. That is why I believe that only you can take this silver-- you alone are strong enough, pure enough.' he set a hand on his shoulder, 'Come with me-- I will show you, and you alone.'

He was panting as he reached the top of the cliff, perspiration beading on his forehead and clinging to his dark lashes before falling from his face to the forest floor, several stories below. His filthy fingers scrambled for a hold and found a thin, brown root, and he pulled himself up, growling with effort. Slowly, he slung his leg over the top of the crag, and hoisted himself onto the flat, stone platform.

Ramon lay on his chest for a few minutes, panting into the patchy moss the decorated the stone, now and again, and at last he got to his knees, looking out over the forest valley that stretched below him.

He was above the tree line, now. Somewhere toward the outer towers, he presumed. The castle spanned the lines of the seaside cliffs like a white, blotchy scar, in the distance. He'd never been here, before-- it was so new to him that a thrill of discovery tingled even now, in his exhausted body.

His hat had blown off midway up the cliff, and had disappeared into the woods to be forgotten. Even now his bags brushed about his burning face in the icy wind that made him shiver as it touched the sweat on his body. He'd never been happier. Here, there was no screaming. No brooding servants. No curse that plagued his mind. Here, he was not Lord Salazar, a small, bitter, mad man in the confines of his stone prison. He was everything he wanted to be. And he was limited only by how far he could drag his body.

Sadly, he had not once seen a glimpse of a wolf. Suddenly he realized-- he was being far too loud. Any animal within miles could hear him lumbering along…

Ramon wiped his lips with his forearm, and sat back, pulling off his shoes and stockings. He removed his coat, his shirt clinging to his arms and chest as he piled his discarded articles into the jacket. Carefully he wadded the coat into a small bundle, tying the sleeves around it securely. Smiling with satisfaction, he slung it across his shoulder, standing on his now bare feet and jumping nimbly from one stone to next, to reach the timberline.

He raced across the grass to the trees, jumping onto a fallen log and darting down it to jump again, landing on all fours on another stone.

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. He had always known he was quick, but just how quick, he had never had a mind to figure out.

Ramon stowed his bundle at the base of a tree, uncaring of weather or not he found it again. Bouncing to his feet, he sped off at full speed. He scrambled under and over obstacles, his shirt tearing and his skin becoming marred with scratches now and again. His movements were almost unnaturally fast, and nearly silent. Deeper into the woods he moved like a wild forest creature, and he broke into his second wind, his legs burning.

He met a crumbling stone and leapt onto it, kicking his way up its odd angles to launch himself over the top.

Eyes suddenly met his own. 'Hello, little one,' someone said with a grin.

Ramon let out a cry and lost his footing, tumbling off the wall to land on his back, his head colliding with a piece of stonework to send him reeling. His senses surged with brain-splitting pain, the world grew black, and he lost consciousness.

END FAITHFUL, PART FOUR.


	5. Chapter 5

*sob* I know, it's about damn time...I didn't forget, I just switched jobs, and my tech's been on the fritz. But you are not interested in excuses, only results. and so, I bend to your will, oh reader...

Chapter Two

Bitores was panting as he followed Sera up another steep, forested hill. 'Old Man!' He gasped, 'Where in the world are you taking me?!'

Sera looked over his shoulder to see the exhausted chief. He smiled, having not even broken a sweat. 'Flatlanders,' He mused, 'Come on, Bitores, we are nearly there.'

Bitores frowned and continued to follow him. 'You know, it will be very hard to haul silver all over the place,' He grumbled, 'I'll die trying, as they say…'

They reached the crest of the hill, and Sera touched the Big man's shoulder, pointing. 'There-- at the base of the cliffs. Right near the river.'

Bitores shook his head, 'I can't see anything with this eye, Amigo,' and he tapped his patch. He paused, something silver catching his eye, and squinted. 'No, wait… I think I can see something…'

'Let's go, Bitores. The sooner this nasty business is done, the better.' And Sera lead him off again, toward the glimmer of silver.

They reached the top of the cliff via one of the trappers' well beaten paths, and peered down intently, then recoiled. 'It-it's a child!' Bitores cried. 'Hello?! Hello down there!'

'No!' Sera said sharply, stilling his friend. 'See, Amigo! It.. It's Lord Salazar!'

The young castellan lay sprawled at the base of the crumbled ruins, flat on his back, blood staining his long, wispy silver hair that fell across the stonework, loose. The silver Bitores had seen. His clothes were tattered, his shoes, stockings, hat and coat were missing, almost as if he had been robbed.

Bitores looked at Sera, both with eyes wide with confusion and alarm. 'We have to help him!' The chief whispered.

Sera looked back down at the listless body. Slowly, he shook his head, 'N..no,' He said quickly, 'We leave him. He'll kill us, if he finds us on his land.'

Bitores gaped, 'If we leave him, he will die!'

Sera looked bitter and afraid, 'He's probably already dead-- let us leave this place, and tell none what we have seen!' he would not look at Bitores as he spoke.

'Have you so little love in your heart for the Salazars, my friend?!' Bitores cried, 'Have you no soul?!'

'Leave him!' Sera snapped, 'He dies, or we do, for saving him! It is _he_ that has no soul! You said yourself, Bitores-- he cares nothing for us, and I care nothing for him, or his bloodthirsty, cursed ancestors!' And he spat off the cliff and turned away.

Birores knew that Sera was not himself- he was afraid. He knew that Sera was a good man…

Growling with annoyance, he pushed the old man aside, hopping off the edge to grind his boots into the side of the cliff, sliding down in a hail of dust and rubble. In a few swift, long steps, he reached the castellan. Bitores knelt, placing his fingers to Ramons' throat gently. The man was cold, and unnaturally still. Slowly, the throb of blood pulsing through his veins met Bitores' fingertips, and the chief let out a sigh of relief. He stood, pulling off his huge duster and draping it over Ramon's tiny form, then gathering the castellan in his arms like a small child. He weighed hardly anything, and the chief was painfully cautious as he moved him, as if tending a bird with a broken wing. He looked up, seeing Sera watching him silently. Bitores shook his head, and turned away, tramping off in the direction of the castle.

He had time to think, as he walked, his long strides passing the foliage swiftly in his nervousness. He was being pretty reckless, he had decided. What if Salazar did decide to punish him, for trespassing? What would his people do, if he was killed? How would they suffer, without a proper leader, unafraid of this small, powerful man? But surely, the castellan was not so heartless as to cruelly condemn the man that had saved him? Bitores would not have left the castellan, no matter what Sera had said, his heart wouldn't allow it…

Ramon gave a shudder from within the coat, and moaned softly. Bitores glanced down at the castellan's face, and saw a crease of pain darken between his eyebrows. His breath was sharp between his clenched teeth.

…Best he hurry.

xXx

The castellan woke feverish, and tasted blood on his tongue. He groaned painfully as he opened his eyes, the shapes around him were fuzzy at the edges, and bright enough to sting. He raised his arm to cover his eyes, and let out a cry as pain shot the appendage, now draped in a sling. Was it broken? He now felt bandages clinging to his face and legs, and the gauze wrapped carefully around his head. What the hell had happened? He couldn't remember…

His back was stiff and sore as he sat up, feeling unnaturally drained in the process, and he was panting with effort as he leaned back against the headboard of his four poster bed, closing his eyes and swallowing. He felt hurt and a little scared, as he couldn't place exactly were his memory faded, and he had suddenly woken here, like this. He felt sick.

Ramon slid out of bed, stumbling to the window and throwing it open to gasp it the cold crisp air. It was early in the morning. He slumped against the sill, growing dizzy as he clung to the wood and glass. Why did he remember joy, in those woods? Why did he remember looking for something, and the disappointment of never finding it? But mostly, why did he remember the feeling of perfect silence, in his ears and his burning mind?

'Lord Salazar,' someone said, and he turned to see one of the maids, 'are you alright, sir?'

'Rum,' he growled, 'bring me rum.'

She had fetched it in a matter of minutes, and he managed to shuffle over to his draft chair, curling into its deep, wide seat as she poured him a small glass of the dark colored liquid. He took it from her with a quick '_gracias,_' and tipped it into his mouth, finishing with one gulp. The alcohol was harsh on his tongue, replacing the blood, and it burned as it slid down his throat to settle in his stomach. He bared his teeth and let out a sigh. 'Leave the decanter and go,' he commanded, and she nodded, 'Wait,' and she paused, 'are you married, senorita?' she shook her head, 'Interesting, as you are very pretty. Perhaps--' but he was interrupted as a manservant hurried in, bowing quickly.

'Lord Salazar,' he said, 'you have a visitor.'

Ramon frowned, glancing at the girl, who blushed, bowed, and hurried out, 'who is it, and what do they want?' he snapped.

'He says his name is Senor Osmund Saddler,' the servant replied apologetically, 'He also says he is the man that "brought you in". Do you know what he is talking about, my Lord?'

Ramon considered a moment. Obviously this man knew something of what had happened, during his lapse. 'Send him in.'

'Would you like time to better prepare yourself, my Lord?'

"Are you deaf? I said send him in.' and the servant bowed and hurried away. Ramon poured and drank another glass of rum, his pain subsiding as the drink numbed his body, 'probably wants a reward,' he grumbled, 'a moment of weakness, and parasites come crawling out of the woodwork…'

There was a laugh, and Ramon jumped, looking up. 'Parasites? Such and interesting selection of words. And no, I didn't come for money,' the stranger watched him with raised brow, 'are you always such a cynical, bitter little man?'

Osmund Saddler was a man of average height-- in fact, he seemed average in nearly every way. His dark hair was slicked against his head, with streaks of mousy grey every now and again, and he had a stubble on his round chin, as he was a bit tubby, with a small belly hanging over his belt. Creases of age shown across his face, deep crow's-feet under his pale blue eyes, sparkling with amusement. A wide, sly grin split his face almost charmingly. He was not dressed in the manner of the villagers, and he wore dark colored slacks and a blue, button-up shirt, not dusty work clothes.

Ramon blinked, then glared, 'Excuse me?'

The servant bowed as Osmund stood, carelessly unaware of the disrespect he was showing, and the servant chanced a timid glance at him before hurrying away. 'I just came to check up on you,' Osmund continued, 'but, seeing as you're hip deep in a bottle of rum, I'd say you're feeling better.' Ramon stared in shock as the man strode over to him, pushing on his shoulder-- 'skootsy!' -- and sitting beside him in the seat. Ramon jumped to his feet, his face flushing indignantly, 'Oh, did I sit on you? Sorry. My butt's big, and you're little, so--'

'Just who the hell do you think you are, sir?!' Ramon demanded shrilly.

'You squeaked! How cute!' Osmund clapped his hands gleefully.

'_Get out_!' Ramon roared 'Just get out, before I kill you! I don't care what happened, just leave!'

Osmund raised a brow. 'What happened? You do not remember?'

Ramon made an effort to calm himself, 'I do not. But, being a moron, I have no doubt that you are clueless, as well.'

Osmund shook his head in disbelief. 'Perhaps it is better, that way,' he whispered.

'What?!' Ramon demanded, 'What is better?! I command you to tell me!'

Osmund glanced up at him, then stood. He towered over Ramon, as most people did, and the castellan found himself taken aback by this careless display of power, taking a step back. Osmund reached for him, and Ramons' eyes rounded in horror. He swooped the castellan off his feet and strode to the bed, laying him upon it and covering him in the blankets. 'Sleepy time, Ramon,' he chimed, tucking the blankets under the small man's chin with a smile, 'I'll tell you when you are better. In the meanwhile, rest up!' he planted a kiss on Ramons' forehead and walked out the door, closing it behind him.

'I hate him,' Ramon decided, his body burning with fury and fever.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

His actions along the lines of Ramon Salazar had not let him get a nights sleep. Bitores had tossed and tumbled the entire time, guilt eating at the twisted mass he called a stomach. Finally he had risen at dawn, as he did every morning, going to feed and water the animals. It felt good to be working, he enjoyed working… and it stopped his thoughts of the castellan.

The fact that he had simply left Ramon on the doorstep, rang the bell, and run for his life was sick with stupidity in his mind. He had never claimed to be a brave man, but this act of cowardice was bitter on his tongue. But, at least he had gotten Salazar to help. That was enough.

He had not been able to find Sera, after the encounter, and had gone home to sulk in shame.

He wished he'd had a drink.

Bitores was hard at work mucking the barn when a cry suddenly brought his attention back to the present. "Chief Mendez!" It was Jon Perez, panting as he stumbled to a halt in the dust before the towering chief. "Senor Mendez! You must come to the village square, quickly!"

"What is wrong?" Bitores demanded, hoisting the pitchfork onto his shoulder and cocking a brow.

Jon removed his black cap, wiping the sweat from his brow before crossing himself with a trembling hand. "Dos Dios!" He whispered, "Chief, there's been murder!"

Bitores dropped the pitchfork in shock, "Who?!"

Jon shook his head. Growling with worry, Bitores hitched his suspenders back up onto his shoulders and bolted for the village.

He arrived in the village square at a dead run, and began pushing his way toward the center of the gathering crowd. At last he reached his goal, and his heart seemed to freeze in his chest.

The body of Old Man Sera lay sprawled on the stone border of the artesian fountain in the center of town, his head crushed and split open. The Villagers around him covered their mouths and eyes with sickened horror, "Old man…?" Bitores whispered, "No…" Sera made no reply.

How? Why? When? …_Who…_?

"Who has done this?!" one of the elderly Belladonna sisters cried, grabbing onto his sleeve. Her breath smelled faintly of alcohol, "What evil has been brought upon us?!"

Bitores felt his heart begin to thunder in his chest. The silver, it had awoken the demon… the demon had killed Sera… "I-I…" Bitores started hoarsely, his throat freakishly dry with fear.

"This wasn't any evil," Someone said softly, "It was murder. Someone has done this. Not a damn demon or devil… but a living, breathing person." Bitores looked up to see Luis, kneeling over his grandfathers' body. "A real person is guilty, and a real person will pay."

'Luis," Bitores said softy, 'come, boy… you shouldn't have to see this…'

'Don't touch me, Chief,' Luis warned, not looking up from his grandfather, 'I have every right in the world to be here. And all of you--' he stood, looking out at the crowd, 'I will find who has done this. There is no such things as demons, but know now, and protect yourselves; there is a murderer in your midst.' and he turned away, pushing his way through the crowd toward the road.

Bitores glanced at Sera's body one more time, then shook his head, 'Get him into the church,' he muttered as he hurried to catch up to Luis.

'Luis!' he called, trotting up behind him, 'Luis, where are you going?'

'He was found on the Salazar land, and that is where I will start!' Luis replied, glaring at the road ahead as tears welled in his eyes. 'I'll talk to that bastard Salazar, and find out what he's got to do with this!'

'Lord Salazar has done nothing!' Bitores blurted.

Luis stopped, looking up at him, 'How do you know?' he questioned sharply.

Bitores swallowed, taken aback.

Luis nodded, 'I see. Then you are of no use to me, Chief.' and Luis continued on, in the direction of the castle, leaving Bitores to question his own sanity. There was certainly something amiss, here.

xXx

A tiny, bright red spider scuttled across the dark marble desktop. The effect was, in fact, very slow, as all eight legs were so small they looked hardly useful at all. The spider paused, unheeding of the danger that loomed overhead, in the form of a shoe. With a tremendous cracking noise, the unseen force of evil brought the shoe down, and, after a moment of crushing pain, all eight of the spiders' legs were broken, all eight eyes dimmed, and the spider died.

Ramon Salazar frowned bitterly, slipping his shoe back onto his foot and scraping the remnants of the spider off his heel and onto the carpet. 'I hate bugs,' he grumbled. He pushed his reading glasses up the bridge of his nose and continued to peer into the computer screen.

_Amnesia: am·ne·sia (n) ; memory loss: loss of memory as a result of shock, injury, psychological disturbance, or medical disorder. _

Shock. Shock could be the thing. But what had happened, to cause such shock? Every time he tried to remember, he was met with a splitting headache. What was he to do, now? He didn't even know where to look, for information on amnesia… if, in fact, that was what he had…

'My Lord Salazar,' someone said, and he turned, frowning. 'someone to see you.'

Ramon set his arm back into its sling, turning his study chair, 'Saddler…?'

'No, Sir. It is--' but the servant was suddenly silenced as a boy, one about Ramon's own age, pushed past him.

'I need no introduction,' the boy spat, 'for one accused of murder!'

Ramon could not help but stare, transfixed. The boy that stood before him was handsome, with the traditional dark hair and skin of the region, along with brilliant green eyes… there couldn't be more than a few years between them… Ramon had never been in contact with anyone his own age…

Ramon found himself growing shy, as the youth stared on at him in the same astonishment. The boy suddenly balked, casting his gaze at the floor. 'Lord Salazar?!' he demanded, a blush tracing his face.

Ramon cleared his throat, pulling off his glasses and stowing them in his pocket, 'I am. Is there a reason for intruding on my lands, peasant?'

'My name is Luis Sera,' the boy replied, 'I've come to enquire about my grandfather.'

Ramon raised an eyebrow, 'Oh? Does he work for me?'

Luis twitched in disgust, 'No. He was murdered…' he looked up at the castellan, his eyes rimmed with the red of past tears, 'on _your_ lands. I demand you answer for this.'

Ramon gaped in shock. Could he have…? No, he was much to small… but… 'Are you a detective?' he questioned sarcastically.

Luis looked at a loss, 'N-no.'

Ramon drew himself up strait in his chair, 'Then I do not have to answer to anything. And, if he was in fact killed on my lands, then he was trespassing, and had no right. Now go, and stop bothering me.' he turned away, paying Luis no more mind. He gasped as he suddenly felt a lurching, and his chair was spun around, Luis' face inches from his own.

'Listen, freak,' he growled lowly, 'I don't give a good god damn about the social hierarchy around here; in fact, I hate it here. Everyone here is an ignorant, superstitious sort. I know you keep them afraid so you can control them. But I don't care. That's their problem. But right now…' he raised a hand, placing it around the castellans' pale throat, 'I am much stronger, and I'll rip your throat out, if you don't tell me everything I need to know.'

Ramon glared up at Luis, 'Beastly _Ganado._ You know nothing. I could kill you, for this intrusion, and I just may…' he grinned slyly as there was the click of the hammer of his broken butterfly being drawn back, and he pressed the cold muzzle to Luis chest, at his heart, 'Your call, Sera.'

Luis smiled darkly in return, restraining his squeezing, ''you always carry a gun?'

'It comes with the territory of trusting no one,' Ramon replied, 'and with good reason, as you yourself have demonstrated. You squeeze, I fire.'

After a moment of fathoming his defeat, Luis retracted his hand, stepping away from the castellan, 'I won't stop until I've found my grandfathers' killer. And then… I'll see you hang, Salazar.'

Ramon chuckled, 'whoever said it was me?'

xXx

_as true to my steriotypical German existance: 'Ze plot thickens.'_


End file.
